Washington Irving by Charles Dudley Warner

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"What a delight, at such a time, to ascend to the little airy
pavilion of the queen's toilet (el tocador de la reyna), which,
like a bird-cage, overhangs the valley of the Darro, and gaze from
its light arcades upon the moonlight prospect! To the right, the
swelling mountains of the Sierra Nevada, robbed of their
ruggedness and softened into a fairy land, with their snowy summits
gleaming like silver clouds against the deep blue sky. And then to
lean over the parapet of the Tocador and gaze down upon Granada and
the Albaycin spread out like a map below; all buried in deep
repose; the white palaces and convents sleeping in the moonshine,
and beyond all these the vapory vega fading away like a dreamland
in the distance.

"Sometimes the faint click of castanets rise from the Alameda,
where some gay Andalusians are dancing away the summer night.
Sometimes the dubious tones of a guitar and the notes of an amorous
voice, tell perchance the whereabout of some moonstruck lover
serenading his lady's window.

"Such is a faint picture of the moonlight nights I have passed
loitering about the courts and halls and balconies of this most
suggestive pile; 'feeding my fancy with sugared suppositions,' and
enjoying that mixture of reverie and sensation which steal away
existence in a southern climate; so that it has been almost morning
before I have retired to bed, and been lulled to sleep by the
falling waters of the fountain of Lindaraxa."

One of the writer's vantage points of observation was a balcony of the
central window of the Hall of Ambassadors, from which he had a
magnificent prospect of mountain, valley, and vega, and could look down
upon a busy scene of human life in an alameda, or public walk, at the
foot of the hill, and the suburb of the city, filling the narrow gorge
below. Here the author used to sit for hours, weaving histories out of
the casual incidents passing under his eye, and the occupations of the
busy mortals below. The following passage exhibits his power in
transmuting the commonplace life of the present into material perfectly
in keeping with the romantic associations of the place:--

"There was scarce a pretty face or a striking figure that I daily
saw, about which I had not thus gradually framed a dramatic story,
though some of my characters would occasionally act in direct
opposition to the part assigned them, and disconcert the whole
drama. Reconnoitring one day with my glass the streets of the
Albaycin, I beheld the procession of a novice about to take the
veil; and remarked several circumstances which excited the
strongest sympathy in the fate of the youthful being thus about to
be consigned to a living tomb. I ascertained to my satisfaction
that she was beautiful, and, from the paleness of her cheek, that
she was a victim rather than a votary. She was arrayed in bridal
garments, and decked with a chaplet of white flowers, but her heart
evidently revolted at this mockery of a spiritual union, and
yearned after its earthly loves. A tall stern-looking man walked
near her in the procession: it was, of course, the tyrannical
father, who, from some bigoted or sordid motive, had compelled this
sacrifice. Amid the crowd was a dark handsome youth, in Andalusian
garb, who seemed to fix on her an eye of agony. It was doubtless
the secret lover from whom she was forever to be separated. My
indignation rose as I noted the malignant expression painted on the
countenances of the attendant monks and friars. The procession
arrived at the chapel of the convent; the sun gleamed for the last
time upon the chaplet of the poor novice, as she crossed the fatal
threshold and disappeared within the building. The throng poured in
with cowl, and cross, and minstrelsy; the lover paused for a moment
at the door. I could divine the tumult of his feelings; but he
mastered them, and entered. There was a long interval. I pictured
to myself the scene passing within: the poor novice despoiled of
her transient finery, and clothed in the conventual garb; the
bridal chaplet taken from her brow, and her beautiful head shorn of
its long silken tresses. I heard her murmur the irrevocable vow. I
saw her extended on a bier; the death-pall spread over her; the
funeral service performed that proclaimed her dead to the world;
her sighs were drowned in the deep tones of the organ, and the
plaintive requiem of the nuns; the father looked on, unmoved,
without a tear; the lover--no--my imagination refused to portray
the anguish of the lover--there the picture remained a blank.

"After a time the throng again poured forth and dispersed various
ways, to enjoy the light of the sun and mingle with the stirring
scenes of life; but the victim, with her bridal chaplet, was no
longer there. The door of the convent closed that severed her from
the world forever. I saw the father and the lover issue forth; they
were in earnest conversation. The latter was vehement in his
gesticulations; I expected some violent termination to my drama;
but an angle of a building interfered and closed the scene. My eye
afterwards was frequently turned to that convent with painful
interest. I remarked late at night a solitary light twinkling from
a remote lattice of one of its towers. 'There,' said I, 'the
unhappy nun sits weeping in her cell, while perhaps her lover paces
the street below in unavailing anguish.'

"--The officious Mateo interrupted my meditations and destroyed in
an instant the cobweb tissue of my fancy. With his usual zeal he
had gathered facts concerning the scene, which put my fictions all
to flight. The heroine of my romance was neither young nor
handsome; she had no lover; she had entered the convent of her own
free will, as a respectable asylum, and was one of the most
cheerful residents within its walls.

"It was some little while before I could forgive the wrong done me
by the nun in being thus happy in her cell, in contradiction to all
the rules of romance; I diverted my spleen, however, by watching,
for a day or two, the pretty coquetries of a dark-eyed brunette,
who, from the covert of a balcony shrouded with flowering shrubs
and a silken awning, was carrying on a mysterious correspondence
with a handsome, dark, well-whiskered cavalier, who lurked
frequently in the street beneath her window. Sometimes I saw him at
an early hour, stealing forth wrapped to the eyes in a mantle.
Sometimes he loitered at a corner, in various disguises, apparently
waiting for a private signal to slip into the house. Then there was
the tinkling of a guitar at night, and a lantern shifted from place
to place in the balcony. I imagined another intrigue like that of
Almaviva, but was again disconcerted in all my suppositions. The
supposed lover turned out to be the husband of the lady, and a
noted contrabandista; and all his mysterious signs and movements
had doubtless some smuggling scheme in view.

"--I occasionally amused myself with noting from this balcony the
gradual changes of the scenes below, according to the different
stages of the day.

"Scarce has the gray dawn streaked the sky, and the earliest cock
crowed from the cottages of the hill-side, when the suburbs give
sign of reviving animation; for the fresh hours of dawning are
precious in the summer season in a sultry climate. All are anxious
to get the start of the sun, in the business of the day. The
muleteer drives forth his loaded train for the journey; the
traveler slings his carbine behind his saddle, and mounts his steed
at the gate of the hostel; the brown peasant from the country urges
forward his loitering beasts, laden with panniers of sunny fruit
and fresh dewy vegetables, for already the thrifty housewives are
hastening to the market.

"The sun is up and sparkles along the valley, tipping the
transparent foliage of the groves. The matin bells resound
melodiously through the pure bright air, announcing the hour of
devotion. The muleteer halts his burdened animals before the
chapel, thrusts his staff through his belt behind, and enters with
hat in hand, smoothing his coal-black hair, to hear a mass, and to
put up a prayer for a prosperous wayfaring across the sierra. And
now steals forth on fairy foot the gentle Senora, in trim basquina,
with restless fan in hand, and dark eye flashing from beneath the
gracefully folded mantilla; she seeks some well-frequented church
to offer up her morning orisons; but the nicely adjusted dress, the
dainty shoe and cobweb stocking, the raven tresses exquisitely
braided, the fresh-plucked rose, gleaming among them like a gem,
show that earth divides with Heaven the empire of her thoughts.
Keep an eye upon her, careful mother, or virgin aunt, or vigilant
duenna, whichever you may be, that walk behind!

"As the morning advances, the din of labor augments on every side;
the streets are thronged with man, and steed, and beast of burden,
and there is a hum and murmur, like the surges of the ocean. As the
sun ascends to his meridian, the hum and bustle gradually decline;
at the height of noon there is a pause. The panting city sinks into
lassitude, and for several hours there is a general repose. The
windows are closed, the curtains drawn, the inhabitants retired
into the coolest recesses of their mansions; the full-fed monk
snores in his dormitory; the brawny porter lies stretched on the
pavement beside his burden; the peasant and the laborer sleep
beneath the trees of the Alameda, lulled by the sultry chirping of
the locust. The streets are deserted, except by the water-carrier,
who refreshes the ear by proclaiming the merits of his sparkling
beverage, 'colder than the mountain snow (_mas fria que la
nieve_).'

"As the sun declines, there is again a gradual reviving, and when
the vesper bell rings out his sinking knell, all nature seems to
rejoice that the tyrant of the day has fallen. Now begins the
bustle of enjoyment, when the citizens pour forth to breathe the
evening air, and revel away the brief twilight in the walks and
gardens of the Darro and Xenil.

"As night closes, the capricious scene assumes new features. Light
after light gradually twinkles forth; here a taper from a balconied
window; there a votive lamp before the image of a saint. Thus, by
degrees, the city emerges from the pervading gloom, and sparkles
with scattered lights, like the starry firmament. Now break forth
from court and garden, and street and lane, the tinkling of
innumerable guitars, and the clicking of castanets; blending, at
this lofty height, in a faint but general concert. 'Enjoy the
moment' is the creed of the gay and amorous Andalusian, and at no
time does he practice it more zealously than on the balmy nights of
summer, wooing his mistress with the dance, the love-ditty, and
the passionate serenade."

How perfectly is the illusion of departed splendor maintained in the
opening of the chapter on "The Court of Lions."

"The peculiar charm of this old dreamy palace is its power of
calling up vague reveries and picturings of the past, and thus
clothing naked realities with the illusions of the memory and the
imagination. As I delight to walk in these 'vain shadows,' I am
prone to seek those parts of the Alhambra which are most favorable
to this phantasmagoria of the mind; and none are more so than the
Court of Lions, and its surrounding halls. Here the hand of time
has fallen the lightest, and the traces of Moorish elegance and
splendor exist in almost their original brilliancy. Earthquakes
have shaken the foundations of this pile, and rent its rudest
towers; yet see! not one of those slender columns has been
displaced, not an arch of that light and fragile colonnade given
way, and all the fairy fretwork of these domes, apparently as
unsubstantial as the crystal fabrics of a morning's frost, exist
after the lapse of centuries, almost as fresh as if from the hand
of the Moslem artist. I write in the midst of these mementos of the
past, in the fresh hour of early morning, in the fated Hall of the
Abencerrages. The blood-stained fountain, the legendary monument of
their massacre, is before me; the lofty jet almost casts its dew
upon my paper. How difficult to reconcile the ancient tale of
violence and blood with the gentle and peaceful scene around!
Everything here appears calculated to inspire kind and happy
feelings, for everything is delicate and beautiful. The very light
falls tenderly from above, through the lantern of a dome tinted and
wrought as if by fairy hands. Through the ample and fretted arch of
the portal I behold the Court of Lions, with brilliant sunshine
gleaming along its colonnades and sparkling in its fountains. The
lively swallow dives into the court, and, rising with a surge,
darts away twittering over the roofs; the busy bee toils humming
among the flower-beds; and painted butterflies hover from plant to
plant, and flutter up and sport with each other in the sunny air.
It needs but a slight exertion of the fancy to picture some pensive
beauty of the harem loitering in these secluded haunts of Oriental
luxury.

"He, however, who would behold this scene under an aspect more in
unison with its fortunes, let him come when the shadows of evening
temper the brightness of the court, and throw a gloom into the
surrounding halls. Then nothing can be more serenely melancholy, or
more in harmony with the tale of departed grandeur.

"At such times I am apt to seek the Hall of Justice, whose deep
shadowy arcades extend across the upper end of the court. Here was
performed, in presence of Ferdinand and Isabella and their
triumphant court, the pompous ceremonial of high mass, on taking
possession of the Alhambra. The very cross is still to be seen upon
the wall, where the altar was erected, and where officiated the
Grand Cardinal of Spain, and others of the highest religious
dignitaries of the land. I picture to myself the scene when this
place was filled with the conquering host, that mixture of mitred
prelate and shaven monk, and steel-clad knight and silken courtier;
when crosses and crosiers and religious standards were mingled with
proud armorial ensigns and the banners of the haughty chiefs of
Spain, and flaunted in triumph through these Moslem halls. I
picture to myself Columbus, the future discoverer of a world,
taking his modest stand in a remote corner, the humble and
neglected spectator of the pageant. I see in imagination the
Catholic sovereigns prostrating themselves before the altar, and
pouring forth thanks for their victory; while the vaults resound
with sacred minstrelsy and the deep-toned Te Deum.

"The transient illusion is over,--the pageant melts from the
fancy,--monarch, priest, and warrior return into oblivion with the
poor Moslems over whom they exulted. The hall of their triumph is
waste and desolate. The bat flits about its twilight vault, and the
owl hoots from the neighboring tower of Comares."

It is a Moslem tradition that the court and army of Boabdil, the
Unfortunate, the last Moorish King of Granada, are shut up in the
mountain by a powerful enchantment, and that it is written in the book
of fate that when the enchantment is broken, Boabdil will descend from
the mountain at the head of his army, resume his throne in the Alhambra,
and gathering together the enchanted warriors from all parts of Spain,
reconquer the Peninsula. Nothing in this volume is more amusing and at
the same time more poetic and romantic than the story of "Governor Manco
and the Soldier," in which this legend is used to cover the exploit of a
dare-devil contrabandista. But it is too long to quote. I take,
therefore, another story, which has something of the same elements, that
of a merry, mendicant student of Salamanca, Don Vicente by name, who
wandered from village to village, and picked up a living by playing the
guitar for the peasants, among whom, he was sure of a hearty welcome.
In the course of his wandering he had found a seal-ring, having for its
device the cabalistic sign, invented by King Solomon the Wise, and of
mighty power in all cases of enchantment.

"At length he arrived at the great object of his musical
vagabondizing, the far-famed city of Granada, and hailed with
wonder and delight its Moorish towers, its lovely vega, and its
snowy mountains glistening through a summer atmosphere. It is
needless to say with what eager curiosity he entered its gates and
wandered through its streets, and gazed upon its Oriental
monuments. Every female face peering through a window or beaming
from a balcony was to him a Zorayda or a Zelinda, nor could he meet
a stately dame on the Alameda but he was ready to fancy her a
Moorish princess, and to spread his student's robe beneath her
feet.

"His musical talent, his happy humor, his youth and his good looks,
won him a universal welcome in spite of his ragged robes, and for
several days he led a gay life in the old Moorish capital and its
environs. One of his occasional haunts was the fountain of
Avellanos, in the valley of Darro. It is one of the popular resorts
of Granada, and has been so since the days of the Moors; and here
the student had an opportunity of pursuing his studies of female
beauty; a branch of study to which he was a little prone.

"Here he would take his seat with his guitar, improvise
love-ditties to admiring groups of majos and majas, or prompt with
his music the ever-ready dance. He was thus engaged one evening
when he beheld a padre of the church advancing, at whose approach
every one touched the hat. He was evidently a man of consequence;
he certainly was a mirror of good if not of holy living; robust and
rosy-faced, and breathing at every pore with the warmth of the
weather and the exercise of the walk. As he passed along he would
every now and then draw a maravedi out of his pocket and bestow it
on a beggar, with an air of signal beneficence. 'Ah, the blessed
father!' would be the cry; 'long life to him, and may he soon be a
bishop!'

"To aid his steps in ascending the hill he leaned gently now and
then on the arm of a handmaid, evidently the pet-lamb of this
kindest of pastors. Ah, such a damsel! Andalus from head to foot;
from the rose in her hair, to the fairy shoe and lacework stocking;
Andalus in every movement; in every undulation of the body:--ripe,
melting Andalus! But then so modest!--so shy!--ever, with downcast
eyes, listening to the words of the padre; or, if by chance she let
flash a side glance, it was suddenly checked and her eyes once more
cast to the ground.

"The good padre looked benignantly on the company about the
fountain, and took his seat with some emphasis on a stone bench,
while the handmaid hastened to bring him a glass of sparkling
water. He sipped it deliberately and with a relish, tempering it
with one of those spongy pieces of frosted eggs and sugar so dear
to Spanish epicures, and on returning the glass to the hand of the
damsel pinched her cheek with infinite loving-kindness.

"'Ah, the good pastor!' whispered the student to himself; 'what a
happiness would it be to be gathered into his fold with such a
pet-lamb for a companion!'

"But no such good fare was likely to befall him. In vain he essayed
those powers of pleasing which he had found so irresistible with
country curates and country lasses. Never had he touched his guitar
with such skill; never had he poured forth more soul-moving
ditties, but he had no longer a country curate or country lass to
deal with. The worthy priest evidently did not relish music, and
the modest damsel never raised her eyes from the ground. They
remained but a short time at the fountain; the good padre hastened
their return to Granada. The damsel gave the student one shy glance
in retiring; but it plucked the heart out of his bosom!

"He inquired about them after they had gone. Padre Tomas was one
of the saints of Granada, a model of regularity; punctual in his
hour of rising; his hour of taking a paseo for an appetite; his
hours of eating; his hour of taking his siesta; his hour of playing
his game of tresillo, of an evening, with some of the dames of the
cathedral circle; his hour of supping, and his hour of retiring to
rest, to gather fresh strength for another day's round of similar
duties. He had an easy sleek mule for his riding; a matronly
housekeeper skilled in preparing tidbits for his table; and the
pet-lamb, to smooth his pillow at night and bring him his chocolate
in the morning.

"Adieu now to the gay, thoughtless life of the student; the
side-glance of a bright eye had been the undoing of him. Day and
night he could not get the image of this most modest damsel out of
his mind. He sought the mansion of the padre. Alas! it was above
the class of houses accessible to a strolling student like himself.
The worthy padre had no sympathy with him; he had never been
_Estudiante sopista_, obliged to sing for his supper. He blockaded
the house by day, catching a glance of the damsel now and then as
she appeared at a casement; but these glances only fed his flame
without encouraging his hope. He serenaded her balcony at night,
and at one time was flattered by the appearance of something white
at a window. Alas, it was only the night-cap of the padre.

"Never was lover more devoted; never damsel more shy: the poor
student was reduced to despair. At length arrived the eve of St.
John, when the lower classes of Granada swarm into the country,
dance away the afternoon, and pass midsummer's night on the banks
of the Darro and the Xenil. Happy are they who on this eventful
night can wash their faces in those waters just as the cathedral
bell tells midnight; for at that precise moment they have a
beautifying power. The student, having nothing to do, suffered
himself to be carried away by the holiday-seeking throng until he
found himself in the narrow valley of the Darro, below the lofty
hill and ruddy towers of the Alhambra. The dry bed of the river;
the rocks which border it; the terraced gardens which overhang it,
were alive with variegated groups, dancing under the vines and
fig-trees to the sound of the guitar and castanets.

"The student remained for some time in doleful dumps, leaning
against one of the huge misshapen stone pomegranates which adorn
the ends of the little bridge over the Darro. He cast a wistful
glance upon the merry scene, where every cavalier had his dame; or,
to speak more appropriately, every Jack his Jill; sighed at his
own solitary state, a victim to the black eye of the most
unapproachable of damsels, and repined at his ragged garb, which
seemed to shut the gate of hope against him.

"By degrees his attention was attracted to a neighbor equally
solitary with himself. This was a tall soldier, of a stern aspect
and grizzled beard, who seemed posted as a sentry at the opposite
pomegranate. His face was bronzed by time; he was arrayed in
ancient Spanish armor, with buckler and lance, and stood immovable
as a statue. What surprised the student was, that though thus
strangely equipped, he was totally unnoticed by the passing throng,
albeit that many almost brushed against him.

"'This is a city of old time peculiarities,' thought the student,
'and doubtless this is one of them with which the inhabitants are
too familiar to be surprised.' His own curiosity, however, was
awakened, and being of a social disposition, he accosted the
soldier.

"'A rare old suit of armor that which you wear, comrade. May I ask
what corps you belong to?'

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